Set on Fire
by RiversOfVenice
Summary: Operation Bluejay created three kids who were never meant to be born. When the middle and only daughter of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark is sent to the Quarter Quell along with an old friend, she doesn't know problems are are just about to start.
1. Prologue

**Wow! You clicked it? Well you've read the summary and you have liked it, so on with the story! **

**I have to note that this is co-written by super-awesome SneverusSnapers.**

**Disclamer: RiversOfVenice doesn't own the Hunger Games. Sneverus Snapers doesn't either.**

**Thanks a lot, I hope you enjoy it!**

~.~

**Prologue – President Snow**

Ah, the feeling of power is like blood and roses. It has its beautiful, yet painful side. If I weren't President of our nation of Panem, who knows what would have happened after the Dark Days? Chaos and destruction. Our nation needed a leader, and I was there to stand up for the Capitol's power. Seventy-five years have I been ruling this country, and they have passed by perfectly, with the yearly Hunger Games happening. That is, up until this year, in which a sixteen-year-old daredevil and her so-called boyfriend dared to question my authority only with two nightlock berries. Now, they're in their Victory Tour, in a party thrown in my own house.

I sit firmly at the desk and then the door squeaks open nervously. I see a foot slowly inch into my field of vision and then the girl who has just become a woman walks in. Her name? Katniss Everdeen.

I smirk at her, she's wearing a delicate lacy white dress past her feet with a long trail. It's not the kind of thing Katniss would wear but really, she has no choice in the matter. Who is she to pick her wedding dress? She has no choice in anything while the people she loves are still alive, which is what I am about to prove. She will pay for the way she humiliated me in front of Panem with those Nightlock berries, she will pay. I motion to Katniss to sit down but she says standing, glaring at me grimly. I let off a tight smile and I see her visibly flinch at the scent of blood and roses, my personal odour. I smile again and breathe out in her face, letting the scent drift her way. She stays frozen to the spot, terrified but not showing it, and I carefully and purposefully put down the huge folder I have had in my hands, which I have been pretending to read with a slam. Katniss doesn't jump though, well, one can dream.

I push the folder across the desk and Katniss cautiously picks it up and reads the name inscribed on the side. Katniss Everdeen.

"Open it," I tell her, smiling. She says nothing, but she drops the folder and looks at me.

In her shock a lone page flutters down to the floor, just like I had planned. She tries to hide her startled look and opens the folder, her eyes bearing through the pages, sucking up every morsel of information. For a few minutes I sneer at her startled eyes as she flicks through pictures and snippets of information altogether making up her. her sister Primrose, her mother, her father, Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, the arena, little Rue, nightlock, nightlock, nightlock. I know she's fearing every single word she's reading, probably expecting to find the word 'deceased' around her loved ones' names. When she reaches her father's file, I snicker. She will definitely cry with this. But I am surprised with the young woman's reaction, her grip simply tightens and she flips over to the next page.

She finally finishes and places the file delicately back onto the table, as emotionless as the lump of carved wood. She bends down to pick up the stray piece of paper. It couldn't have gone better. She reads the title and turns to me, finally speaking, managing to muster enough determination to let go of words in my presence.

"What's Operation Bluejay?" Katniss asks. I let a smile which is more like a sneer creep onto my face. I pop a mint into my mouth and can't chew with my modelled jaw which is so soft it can barely break up anything solid past soup, though nothing could cover up the distinguishable scent of blood and roses. I rise to my feet and swallow the mint whole, gulping it back as a pelican would do a fish and then lock eyes with her, trapping her like a condemned prey.

"Operation Bluejay," I say clearly and distinguishably, savouring the pause and tension in Katniss Everdeen's face, "Is your child."


	2. Morning in Victor's Village

**Hey! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, here comes the second chapter! Sorry for the delay, I had my exams on Monday and Tuesday!**

**Just to clear things up: Mockingjay and Parts Two and Three of Catching Fire never happened.**

**Disclaimer: RiversOfVenice doesn't own the Hunger Games, and neither does SneverusSnapers. If either of us did, we would not be here.**

I feel a little hand shaking me gently. I let out a groan; I don't want to get out of bed yet. But the little hand insists, so I open my left eye and I see my younger brother Robin, smiling at me through my foggy vision.

"Good morning Blue!" he chirps.

I groan again. Why did he have to wake me up? In fact, why did he have to come into my room anyway? I have always told him not to come in. No one is allowed into Bluebell Everdeen's room. But my brother doesn't seem to understand it, since he surpasses the room's limits without even caring about what will happen.

"Dad told me to wake you up," the little daredevil tells me.

"Well, tell dad I don't want to wake up," I snap, rolling over to the other side of the bed. When I do, I find my older brother smirking at me, his usual pale blue eyes defying mine, contrasting in a dark brown. Ugh. I'm surrounded by siblings.

"Wake up," he tells me. "Do you need me to drag you out of bed?"

"NO!" I yell, and I bolt up, sitting up straight. My brothers bolt backwards from me, automatically cringing. All three of us have good reflexes and are always alert, I guess that's what happens when both of your parents are hunger games winners.

My brothers laugh and I examine them carefully, frowning. Jay, my eighteen-year-old brother, who has blond hair and blue eyes, as every wealthy boy in District 12. He's almost a spitting image of my father, unlike me. No one would ever say we are siblings, despite the fact that we actually get on rather well. He has that wealthy, rich scent the richer kids usually have, while I can easily disguise myself as a Seam girl, were it not for my extreme popularity amongst our District's population. It's not that I particularly want to be popular, but being the daughter of the star crossed lovers from district twelve basically ensures that. And lastly there's Robin. He has just turned seven, and he has the Seam's dark hair combined with the merchant side's pale blue eyes. His skin is halfway between the olive skin in the Seam and the pale skin in the merchant side. As my dad says, he is the balance between Jay and me. Little Robin, he's inherited all the good traits from both out parents, my father's sweetness and my mother's alertness.

"Duh, okay," I groan eventually. "I'll go."

Jay lets out a smirk, and both of my brothers leave my room. I sigh. I thought they would never leave. It's usually like this, despite the massive sign I hooked onto my door telling them never to enter if they want to see anything ever again, of course they ignored it. I look around my room and when I open my closet I see there's a light blue dress waiting for me, the pale blue like the sky on a calm summer's day, rippling like a lake under a calm breeze when you've just skipped a stone across it, beautiful, elegant and natural. But despite my love for this dress I still feel hollow, empty inside. My eyes glance at the calendar. I had forgotten today was the day; the day of the reapings.

A shiver travels down my back. I have always feared Reapings. I know it sounds ridiculous, being daughter of not one, but two victors, and living in the Victor's Village, being the wealthiest girl in our District. But despite this, I feel tension as the day is mentioned. I have to deal with it, there is no other option. I know it's Jay's last year, and I only have to live through the next three years without being reaped to survive the Capitol's wrath.

For some reason I fail to understand, my parents have always been training me. They always do this privately, though. We have a training gym in our basement that would be worth a career tribute. My brothers and I have learnt many things over the years. It's like the trainings they film before the Hunger Games, but three hundred sixty-five days a year ever since I was six. At first I thought they wanted us to be fit, but then I realized it was something different. They wanted to train us, just in case we were reaped. They want us to be ready, just in case we did have a chance to get reaped. They want us to have an advantage, an advantage that they never had.

"Ah, it's done," I muse as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Not bad, although fashion has never been my forte. My mother told me about her stylist during the Hunger Games, Cinna. I think he still works as a stylist for District Twelve girls. I usually saw his job in the Chariot Rides and interviews - they were truly amazing. They usually replayed old Games at school, but curiously I've never watched my parents'. Curiously no-one I know has either; though everyone knows of them no-one knows what their games were really like. But whenever I mention it to them my mother's face becomes blank and stony like it does when she wants to block strong emotions and my father looks the other way, never meeting our eyes. They treat us like we're children, like we shouldn't be exposed to those terrible things. But we are, every year we have watched the games, trained for the games and dreaded being in the games. But yet if I get reaped today I'll have more to worry about than a television screen because I'll be the one on it.

As I walk downstairs I find my brothers, mum and dad are already having breakfast, and I take a seat between Robin and dad. I can see mom is feeling nervous like she is every reaping while dad is trying to crack a laugh in the tense atmosphere. He's just like that, plain old Peeta Mellark.

"Good morning," he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning," I grunt, taking a seat. I guess I'm more like my mother, given that my brothers are chatting casually while I try to chew my eggs and bacon in silence. I always feel so bitter when I eat my meals, because I know there are lots of kids starving to death outside the Victor's Village. Dad has told me he had intended to use his victor money to improve the District's conditions, but the Capitol had forbidden it. The Capitol forbids a lot of things, as it comes by. But that's normal, I'm sure they do that in lots of households. But still sometimes I used to sneak food to the lesser off people in my school. My parents found out and stopped me, though the tears that came up weren't tears of sorrow, they were tears of joy. They were proud of me yet they forbid it, they were too worried I'd get hurt. I almost felt like screaming at them, a lot more people would get worse then hurt if they didn't eat. Why do my parents have such a tight reign on me? I even heard rumours that my mother used to hunt, well, my supposed second cousin or something like that told me. But really you can't trust anything he says. For one, no way is he my relative. He may look like my mother but I can tell by the way they look at each other regrettably that they are not cousins, they might have been friends, maybe something more, I really can't tell. All I know is that everything he tells me is either painful or a lie, that's just the way it goes.

I glance at mom, and her grey eyes meet mine. I know she's thirty-seven by now, but she still has that gleam in her eyes which makes her seem young, strong, rebellious. Rebellious to the Capitol? That's what I think, but I can't say it out loud because I have learnt President Snow is everywhere, literally. He has spies around the corner, searching for information to use against us, the Everdeens. I might still be a teenager but I'm not dumb, I know the Capitol hates my parents because they defied the President's power. What I don't know yet is what they did or the consequences that befalled them.

"Is Haymitch coming to the Reapings?" I ask casually.

My old godfather, Haymitch Abernathy, hasn't been to the Reapings ever since my parents occupied his place as mentors for District 12 tributes, although presence is obligatory for every inhabitant of our District, as in every other of the eleven districts that form Panem. When mom and dad leave to the Hunger Games, we stay with him, although Jay has to control his drinking and his rage when Robin starts calling him 'Uncle Mitchy'. Living with your drunk godfather isn't the most exciting of plans, but that's what we have.

"I don't think so, Blue," dad answers. "You know he has never liked anything related to the Hunger Games."

I know that. Why have I asked anyway? Well, I guess it's just genes; I can't help but be like my dad sometimes, caring and always asking after people. Damn genetics.

After breakfast I go to our house's front porch. I sit down in the wooden bench and watch District Twelve's activity in the distance. Here, uphill in Victor's Village, I feel like a brat. Well, thinking about it, I guess I am a brat, or at least counted as one. Otherwise why would everyone else clamor to be my friend? I see the Seam's tin houses which look like they're about to collapse in any moment, and then I touch my house's strong, red brick structure with the back of my hand, the coarseness of the baked clay brushing my skin. My house is sturdy, a lot better than the houses in the Seam where my mother grew up in. Then I look at the merchant side of our District, which looks microscopic compared to the Seam's proportions. I know somewhere in that reduced part of District Twelve stands my aunt Primrose's house, where she lives with her husband Rory Hawthorne, along with our grandmother. When mum and dad married, as they told us grandma wanted to give them some space, so she decided to move into a house mum built for Aunt Prim and her. Of course that seems true, one of the few things that I am told that isn't lies. But somehow I feel mum didn't want her to go, just the way she said it. Regretably, scared even. Though I have no idea why she should be scared, she's comfortable here in our house, she has dad, Jay, Robin and me. A family, just like she always wanted. Or so she said.

"Hey," a voice muses next to me.

My heart misses a beat as I skip in surprise. Then, I hear an unmistakable chuckle I know really well.

"Searbh," I laugh, looking at his shiny blue eyes.

My dad's apprentice, Searbh Cobi, is sitting next to me. He is a young sixteen-year-old from the merchant side of District Twelve. He has been my father's apprentice for two years, ever since his father - an old friend of my dad - had requested him an apprenticeship with my father. And, of course, he was learning to be a baker. Because running a bakery is _so_ exciting.

One year ago when I was fourteen I started being interested about Searbh. It was hard to muster up the courage to talk to him and I was nervous at first but eventually I pulled myself through and started a conversation and it never ended really. After endless hours chatting while he baked the bread we developed a strong friendship that has lasted until today.

"You know it's Reapings today, right?" I ask slowly. He nods. "And there's no work on Reapings day?"

"I thought I should come here," he tells me, smiling. "You know...just to chat."

I smile back, although I really don't feel like it. I know Searbh is a cheery boy who loves having fun but I really don't think Reapings day is a cheery day, at all. I can't understand how my father and brothers can be acting like usually. Before I can think anything else, I blurt the question out.

"Why are you all so cheery right now? It's Reapings day!"

I look at Searbh, fearing an angry answer, but he simply shrugs and smiles. "We all want to be cheery for one simple reason, Blue. We don't want to follow the Capitol's power. If we seem happy and unworried we will beat the Capitol's bloodthirsty games. We have to keep on fighting for what we want, but we don't have to use weapons for this. We can show the Capitol we're not their game pieces if we act normally, without seeming worried or nervous, and they will see they might be able to control our lives, but they will never, ever be able to control our feelings and thoughts."

I stare at Searbh. His speech's words have sunk deep into my heart, and now I feel just a little wiser after all he has said. He only smiles again, but we're interrupted by my family coming out of our house. Dad comes ahead, but when he sees his apprentice his here, he smiles.

"Hey, Searbh, good morning!" he exclaims.

"Good morning, sir," his apprentice answers politely, standing up.

"What are you doing here?" mom asks, hostile. She frowns at Searbh. I don't know why, but she has never liked the idea of having him close to us. I guess she's just too overprotective. What does she think he's going to do to me? He's only a friend, that's all, a friend.

"I thought of coming and go along with you to the Reapings," he explains, and briefly looks at me. I nod, as if to certify it's true.

"Very well then," dad says, and pats Searbh's back. Then he comes to me and says, "Time to go, Blue."

I nod and reach out a hand and brush it against the sturdy red bricks of my house. I never know, this may be the last time I see this place.


	3. Nightmare

**Thank you so much to all who have reviewed, I hope you lot enjoy the reapings and the unsuspected tributes that will be picked.**

**We both hope you enjoy and have time to review, thank you very much!**

**~RiversOfVenice**

**~SneverusSnapers**

* * *

><p>I break away from Searbh's vice like grip cautiously. His cheeks burn up when he realizes he's been holding onto my hand tightly and he drops his arm to his side, limp and lifeless. I smile, embarrassed, but then meet my mother's bitter glare. I drop it immediately and nod formally to him. I breathe slowly. In, out, in, out. My name is only in that glass orb four times, four out of hundreds, thousands even. I will not be picked, I cannot be picked. I smile sweetly at Searbh and he looks away suddenly. I grimace, oh well, I should say goodbye. Just in case, well, just in case... The thought doesn't even bear thinking about. I don't want to suffer the same fate as my parents and go into the arena, it's just too cruel for such a thing to happen. I feel emotions boil up inside me and I glance away from Searbh's blank face. I tell myself we're just friends, but is that really all?<p>

I part from Searbh and whisper his name in my head repetitively, mulling it over in my brain, _Searbh, Searbh Coli, Searbh, Searbh Coli, Searbh, Searbh Coli._

I'm snapped out of my train of thought by a bubbly Capitol lady bouncing onto the steps. My dad said his escort got whipped away to a much better district after my parent's games so we've ended up with another phoney replacement. She is called Specchio, Specchio Della Vanita. I have no idea what that means but it will be some weird phrase in an ancient language. We all call her Della Vanita, it's easier.

She is followed onto the stage by my parents. My father squeezes my mother's hand and leads her onto the stage, but her eyes aren't on Peeta, they're on me. And I can see a message coming through right and clear. I might be reaped. And now mum is going to be worried, really worried. I can't see why. She was reaped when she was one year older than me, sixteen, but she had no training, just her skills, determination and of course, Peeta. I see her eyes fixed on my so I give her a cheeky smile with the last remainder of courage I have and then she is tugged up onto the stage by dad.

Della gives off one of her simpering sweet smiles full of distaste in my mother's direction. I've heard my parents talk about her and apparently she is one of those self centred, vain, Capitol women who don't even have the word poverty in their encyclopedic vocabulary the Capitol inserted into their brain. I still have no idea what they do but for once I can say I'm glad I'm not from the Capitol. They may be able to put me into the Games but they will never probe into my mind and fish around, well, at least I hope not.

The mayor starts his speech with his usual greeting to the victors and I find it hard not to drift off. I can tell I won't be tugged awake by one of my so-called friends though, all they ever do is clamour over me, for money and status probably, like I could give them that. Well, I do, not the money, but the status anyway, I'm on top of the pile because of my parents and sometimes I wish it wasn't so, so then I could know that I had struggled up their myself, not lifted up off the backs of my family.

The mayor finishes and then Della takes over, smiling a smile which is closer towards a grimace to our district. There is an awkward silence and then she struts up to the front of the stage and snatches the crystal reaping ball out of the hands of a waiting avox.

"Let's see, our lucky lady shall be..." She says, holding the slip she removed up into the light as she would a surgical instrument, "Bluebell Everdeen!"

My heart bubbles up my chest until it gets stuck in my throat. Me? No, it can't be me. But still I know, deep down, in my sinking heart, that it's true. My mother, my father, it all fits. Like father like son, like mother like daughter. How naive I was to think that I might actually survive this like I have the past three years, how stupid and ignorant. The capitol would never do that; they would never let me go. I'll just have to put up with it, no matter how I feel about it. I gulp in air and shakily get to my legs. I avoid my parent's eyes, I know what it will be like, I know what will happen. If I look at them I will cry, in front of my family, in front of my district, in front of the Capitol, in front of Panem. If I look I will cry and I cannot let that happen.

I take a gulp of air, refreshing my lungs. Despite the fact I've barely moved I still feel out of breath and try hard not to hyperventilate. I hear the crowd already murmuring. The star crossed lover from district twelve's daughter. What a turn out it will be after all. But then something even worse happens, if it is possible. Another name is called out, and despite that I have been ignoring it the crowd suddenly breaks into more frantic murmurs. I stagger up to the stage, that's not important at the moment, and try to look at my parents. My father smiles reassuringly at me and reaches out and squeezes my hand but my mother stares, dumbfounded at the other tribute. Fed up of this illusion I whip my head around and then see the person I never expected to see up on the stage in front of me.

_Chase Hawthorne._

I jerk back a leg to steady myself, how can that be so? Chase? No, it can't be! Yet that slip of paper has read a name and that face staring right at me is definitely and unmistakably Chase Hawthorne. Chase is his son, Gale's only son, Gale's only child. I never thought that it would ever happen, that we would ever be reaped, let alone together. Chase has never had to apply for tesserae, as neither have I. But that doesn't stop the cruel judgement of the balls from picking our names out, that never stops the verdict. Why has Chase has never needed to get tesserae? It's quite simple, Gale, my mother's supposed cousin did, plenty of times, but Chase, no, not Chase. Gale married Madge Undersea, the mayor's daughter, which makes Chase the mayor's grandson. We all thought it was a perfect match, quiet Madge and overambitious Gale, we all thought that his brashness and her shyness would even out; make them right for each other. And it did, but still there is an aftershock, a bitter taste which remains on my tongue, Chase. It's not that I don't like him, I do, but Gale cried when he learnt he was having a child, and they were no tears of joy. I always thought of Gale as a loving family and he did that, loved Chase. But still it seems to have hit him and hit him hard and it seems to have broken his heart into thousands of tiny little fragments, though I have no idea why. All I know is that Gale loves Madge and Chase, Madge loves Gale and Chase and Chase loves, though he never likes to admit it, Gale and Madge.

Chase and Gale are like too sides of a coin, they're so alike yet totally different. They are identical in looks and words, choice and manner of speaking, views, hopes and dreams. Yet somehow, though I have no idea how, they're different. They fit yet they don't, it's almost like they're two people that were never meant to meet each other and did. But of course that's the way with most things. I think of my parents, a merchant and a girl from the Seam, bonded in holy matrimony. I never would have thought it, and neither would they. But I guess that's what the Hunger Games does to people, makes them do the most un-characteristic things.

I look up from the face of Chase to see the mayor looking as mortified as I am. This cannot be happening; Chase and I can't be reaped on the same day, at the same time, in the same year. We were friends but now in just a space of a few minutes we have become enemies, enemies until we die, which may be quite soon according to the ways of the Games. No, this isn't true, it can't be true. This is a dream. I pinch myself to wake up but all I feel is a sudden tweak of pain and no more, nothing. I am awake, and this nightmare is no dream. This nightmare is my reality.


End file.
